


time

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, fluffy morning cotton candy, this truly is just pure raw sugar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: She treasured moments where she woke up with the sun, the warmth of it spreading from her toes all the way up to where Stiles’ hand was resting over her heart. She considered it a peace offering from time itself, giving her the opportunity to live like a still life painting; all soft colors and soft edges, not once daring to be disturbed.





	time

_ Give it time. Time heals all wounds. Tomorrow will be better.  _

 

Time, Lydia thought, got all the credit for her hard work. Every hour that passed - every minute ticking by - was winning accolades she’d earned on her own merit. The reality of her life was something that she had to process moment by moment, and last she checked, she fought a lot harder for her happiness than the ‘concept’ of time.

 

It’s why she treasured moments where she woke up with the sun, the warmth of it spreading from her toes all the way up to where Stiles’ hand was resting over her heart. She considered it a peace offering from time itself, giving her the opportunity to live like a still life painting; all soft colors and soft edges, not once daring to be disturbed. Of course, trying to explain it to Stiles was like trying to take a picture of a sunset, as the impression was hardly ever as good as the experience itself - but he listened all the same. He knew better than most that moments like these, even secondhand, were something to hold onto in their world. 

 

So, really, she should’ve never doubted his determination to experience it firsthand.

 

“Hey.”

 

Lydia smiled. “Hey.”

 

“You’re up.”

 

“So are you.”

 

“That’s debatable,” he yawned, twirling his finger around the collar of her shirt. “When did you put clothes back on?” 

 

“About the same time your roommate decided he couldn’t sleep unless it was 55 degrees.” 

 

Stiles groaned and dragged the comforter over their heads, which was every bit as suffocating as Lydia anticipated but not completely unbearable. She half expected him to fall back asleep, but he simply tucked himself closer and launched into a tirade about  _ specifically labeled buffalo sauce _ that made her hide a smile into her pillow. 

 

“Are you laughing at me?”

 

“Not technically.”

 

“Scorned,” he sighed. “Mocked, in my own bed.” 

 

“You’re more dramatic than usual this early,” she said, turning in his arms to face him. Surprisingly, he was smiling over at her with wide eyes - like he’d been up for hours instead of a few minutes. 

 

“So, why  _ are _ you up?” she continued, voicing her concern. “You’re usually dead weight until at least noon.” 

 

“Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” he shrugged. “It’s nice. I get it - it’s all, you know. Quiet.”

 

“So poetic.”

 

“I am poetic, thank you very much,” he said, pinching her side. “Everything I say is light and metaphorical. Not everyone has this gift.”

 

Lydia snorted. “There’s nobody else like you, I’ll give you that.”

 

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

 

“It is.”

 

They went back and forth like that for a while, trading gibes and prodding at each other until the light from outside was bright enough to pierce through the blankets. Lydia knew they’d have to get up and go their separate ways eventually, but time - ever generous - was moving syrupy-slow.

 

_ All right _ , she thought.  _ Maybe you deserve some of the credit.  _


End file.
